A nice day for breakfast outside. Well-practised,
by now, birds sing out the end of summer.
On the wall, a marmalade sphinx, unblinking
doesn’t miss a twitch in the garden.
In a hurry for Heathrow and bored,
a 747 scratches its dirty fingernails
down the clearblue, blameless sky.
We wince, the birds, the cat and I.
***
Across the pond, excited at the prospect ahead
they are up at first light and praying. The drive
out to Logan will be uneventful. At check-in
a girl will thank them and smile: ‘Have a nice day.’